


Growing Up Empty

by nindroidzane



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Homophobia, Misgendering, Non-Graphic Violence, Other, Xenophobia, i think, sad hours, tagging b hard, they're kiddos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:41:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24583969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nindroidzane/pseuds/nindroidzane
Summary: Authright is lonely
Relationships: Authleft/Ancom, but just the last chapter
Comments: 16
Kudos: 70





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is better than the tags and the title and the description lol

"Здравствуй?"

The larger boy was still staring at him, but he had no idea what he was saying. Part of him knew what his parents would think, after telling others to speak English almost everywhere they went. But another part of him was intrigued by the unfamiliar words. And he'd always wanted a friend

"What?" He mumbled, hesitant to raise his voice. 

The other opened his mouth to say something, then stopped. They couldn't understand each other. So much for a friend. 

He turned to go, but was stopped short by a tight grip on his wrist. Turning, with a slight tremble, he looked back at the tall child holding him there. His head buzzed with fear. 

"L-leave me alone…" He sniffled. "Speak our… speak English…"

A light tug on his arm. Wiping tears away onto his least dirty sleeve, he hid his face.

Another tug. He looked up. Frustrated eyes bored into his own, but the quizzical look didn't seem malicious. 

"Don't tell anybody I cried…" He hiccuped, pulling his arm away with a jolt.

"Просто давай, хорошо?" His potential friend took a step backwards. 

Curious, he took a step forward. The other boy smiled and turned on his heel, walking off in that direction. Deciding this other kid was trustworthy, he followed.

It wasn't a very long walk. And the house they ended up at didn't look much better than his own. Though it looked… homier. 

His new friend led him through the front door, then ran inside calling to somebody else. He froze in the doorway, one shoe off his foot, when two more people accompanied the boy back. They were bigger than his parents, and they were giving him an odd look. 

One of them gently touched his cheek, rubbing a little dirt off. His heart raced. Shoving the hand away and biting down on it hard, he dove to the floor for his other shoe. 

The door clicked shut behind him. The shoe dug into his ribs. Everybody was looming over him, staring. Glancing around wildly, he scrambled to press himself into the corner. 

Gentle words he couldn't understand reached his ears, but the world was hazy and he couldn't stop shaking. 

Arms wrapped around him next. He wanted to fight. He sobbed into the nearest shoulder instead. 

Everything seemed like a blur after that. 

Someone had gotten a bath ready for him. It was warm. They gave him bubbles.

The clothes he was wearing were too big, and they were a little hot. He didn't remember putting them on. But they were so comfy.

They gave him too much food. He threw up on their floor.

They tried to get a look at the bruises. They couldn't. They couldn't. He fought them off and hid in a closet.

Something jabbed him in the ribs. He woke with a start. He wasn't in a closet, he was in a bed. Not his own bed, either. A real one. 

The owner of said bed was at the side of it, looking tired. He held a glass of water. 

"Is that for me?" He murmured.

The boy held his gaze for a second. Then he set the water on the nightstand and quietly left the room.

They couldn't understand each other, he reminded himself, taking a sip of water. 

But maybe they could still be friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse my google translate


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy 3am

The friendship didn't last long. He stayed for several days, relishing in the neatly organized home and full meals. It was difficult to talk to anybody with the language barrier, and something in the back of his mind that sounded an awful lot like his father was making him a little uncomfortable when they spoke. It wasn't a big deal, though. He was just glad to have someone to talk to. 

_"Hey!" His voice was almost a squeak. He'd never felt this energized in his life._

_His friend greeted him with a smile. It was a small, put off smile, but it was enough to make him beam and skip over to the couch._

_"What are you doing?" Puzzle pieces were scattered on the table in front of them. "Can I join?"_

_He was given a long look. But after a couple moments, he was invited to help with a gesture, and the hesitance was forgotten._

_They built the puzzle quietly, side by side, for hours. Then they ate dinner, at the same time they'd been eating every other day. It was a wonderful experience._

Most days went similarly. Peaceful, structured, and accompanied by people who might've even loved him. 

Everything felt good. Until his parents showed up.

He never understood a lot of what his parents did. But this time, although he was still little, he felt he could assume that they only came because the people he'd been staying with weren't from here. They weren't _really_ looking for him. And he didn't really want to go back.

Amidst the yelling, his friend grabbed his hand so they could go sit somewhere quieter. He was quickly yanked into the air by his father. 

"Can we go home?" He whispered, biting his lip. They were going to scare away his only friend.

If anyone had heard him, they didn't show it. Instead, his father turned his rage on the little boy in front of him. 

"S-stop it, stop it!" He wailed, trying to get down and defend his friend. 

A pain in his stomach shut him up. But only for a moment. He burst into tears, sobbing above the mixed language yelling and giving his friend a chance to escape. 

Though he didn't. He stood his ground, despite being much smaller than the man he was facing. Not that he was paid any mind. 

The adults were quieter now. His father's eyes were furious, but his voice was icy cold as he bid goodbye to the other family. A reminder to speak English in this country was tossed back as he carried his screaming son out the door.

And he kept screaming, the whole way home. He wanted to stay back there, where everything was warm and calm and predictable. Instead, he was thrown to the carpetless floor of his bedroom. Even ignoring his yelling father, the atmosphere here was suffocating. 

But his yelling father certainly made it a lot worse. 

He didn't _know_ what foreigners or immigrants were, and he didn't really care if he was intruding by staying there so long. He liked it there. They liked _him_ there. 

Anger coursed through him. He felt like he was going to burst.

"And that fucking kid you were-" 

An angry kick to the knee took his father by surprise. He glared up at him, cheeks glistening. Fire glared back. He faltered. 

"You little shit."

Swift, hard kicks reduced him back to a blubbering mess on the ground, the defiance lost.

The yelling only lasted a few more minutes, he was lucky, but everything ached and the tears wouldn't stop flowing. He lay curled up there the rest of the night, lacking the energy to move to his mattress or go find something to eat. 

He sniffled, looking up at his broken window. The moon was out of view. The stars were twinkling coldly. They barely illuminated the dark puddle slowly forming under his nose. 

He was home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about Ancom's pronouns and everything, they'd be right from somebody else's perspective
> 
> I just picked the worst guy's perspective lol

A skirt. 

A boy in a skirt?

He was pretty sure that wasn't normal. Sure enough that he didn't want to risk asking about it. But here he was, right in front of him. A boy his age, wearing a skirt.

He'd seen him around the neighborhood before, of course. But never wearing much different than long sleeve shirts and tattered old pants. Sometimes he was with the other boy, who he now knew was from Russia. He wasn't exactly sure where that was, but according to his parents it wasn't as nice as here, so he didn't ever want to visit. Here was bad enough as it was.

"What are you staring at?" A high pitched voice made him blink out of his thoughts. A pair of unlaced shoes stood before him, looking as scruffed as his own. Looking up from where he sat, on the crumbling old root of a tree, he saw the angry face of the skirted boy glaring down at him. 

Had he been staring?

"You?" He questioned. 

An angry foot stamp. He must've been, then.

"You can't-"

"You're dressed weird." He reached out and touched his skirt. The kid pushed him over hard. When he sat back up, the skirt was accompanied by two shaking fists. 

"F-fuck off!" The curse took him by surprise. The boy was even smaller than he was, if still chubbier. 

"Sorry." He tipped his head to the side. "It still looks pretty."

It looked comfortable, too. Would it be wrong for him to wear one?

"Huh?" The kid looked taken aback. 

"You look pretty." He repeated, quieter this time.

The fists dropped open with relief, though they were still trembling.

"You mean that?" He whispered.

A nod.

A… hug. Fumbling, he hugged the boy back.

"Don't tell anybody." He backed up to sit in the leaves in front of him. "...don't tell my parents."

"They didn't buy it?" 

"No, my friend gave it to me." The boy looked at him like it was obvious. "Why else would I be wearing it out in the forest?"

"I like the forest." He leaned back against the tree. The forest was quiet. Peaceful.

"Me too." His companion chirped. It was less peaceful with him here, but it was difficult to mind. 

"But I'd just wear it everywhere if I could."

He nodded in understanding. The other kid continued to chatter on through the day, while he sat and listened. It was still peaceful with the loud babbling, he decided. A different kind of peaceful.

Their peace was soon broken by a yell close behind him. He tensed, ready for his father to jump out and yell at him. 

A woman strode up stiffly instead. She stood straight up with her arms crossed, a pointed glare directed down at the boy in front of him.

"Huh?" He mumbled. It went unnoticed. The woman looked to be brimming with annoyance, and his new friend seemed stressed out of his mind. 

"Where have you been all day?" She tapped her hip with long, fake nails.

"And what-" The glare steeled. "What are you _wearing?!_ " 

She reached down to yank at the skirt. The slew of stutters pouring out of the kid were completely unintelligible, but she didn't seem to care what he had to say, anyway. 

She yanked again. The skirt ripped in her hand. His friend looked devastated, on top of looking terrified. Trying to get away earned him a slap. There was a lecture at the tip of her tongue. 

Before he knew what was happening, he had lunged at her. Pulling at her hair, kicking at her legs. 

His friend looked mortified. This wasn't helping.

He was quickly thrown off, anyway. He was as light as the leaves below them. Still, the woman's lecture was aimed at him now. And while her words made his heart race, he was very aware of the boy shaking violently behind him. This was better than watching her rip him and his skirt to shreds.

He glared definitely into her face until she ran out of steam. When she reached out to grab her child, he bit her on the arm. She called him feral, but did take a step back. 

He flashed a grin at his friend. Hollow eyes stared back, and the kid got to his feet. 

"Um, see you?" His voice was a little high. 

A shaky, disconnected hum came from his friend. Staring wide eyed off into space, he followed his mother silently down a path out of the forest, moving like a ghost.

Not sure whether that meant a yes or a no, but still feeling somewhat triumphant, he hopped to his feet. His knees nearly buckled, but he stayed upright. 

Smiling to himself, despite knowing in the back of his mind any sort of screaming lecture she wanted to give had only been postponed, he turned down his own path out. It was time to go home. But at least he had made a new friend.


	4. Chapter 4

The new kid was at the playground again.

Well, the relatively new kid. It must've been a few months since he had moved into the huge house at the edge of town, but he was still the only person to come around since that Russian family. And they hadn't spoken once, so he wasn't exactly familiar.

He was alone right now, though. Usually the short kid from the forest accompanied him. He'd watched them playing from his lawn once in a while.

After a moment's hesitance, he decided to approach the swings. The mildly disgusted look he received stopped him from sitting on one. 

"You look… dirty." The boy commented, lowering his small sunglasses.

Frowning slightly, he looked down at his ripped, unwashed clothes. He had a point.

"Sorry." He replied lamely. The boy got up from the swing, standing just a bit above him. Looking him up and down briefly, he pushed his sunglasses back up. 

"Wanna come over?"

Slightly taken aback, he nodded. According to snippets he'd picked up now and again, that house was about the biggest thing in their entire town. And he got invited to go, just like that.

The walk was long. His head felt a little foggy near the end, and it was a bit difficult to keep up with the taller boy, but when they reached the house all of his discomfort seemed to melt away.

It was huge. Almost dizzyingly. The front lawn alone looked as if it would dwarf his own house. He looked at the boy beside him in astonishment, the shiny grin under his sunglasses apparent. 

"Come on, you should see the inside." Grin unwavering, he led the way in.   


Inside felt even bigger. Almost too big. It seemed very empty compared with his own home, and anything that did occupy the room was neat and pristine. The organization of everything kind of reminded him of his old friends house, though, like his own, it felt much less like a home. He was afraid to touch anything, let alone leave the rug in front of the door. Even _ that _ looked too clean.

His friend reached for his arm to pull him further inside. Glancing at his mucky sleeve, he grabbed his hand instead. It felt… wrong. His father had given him enough trouble for holding hands with his Russian friend. He yanked his hand away, eyes filled with hostility. 

"Oh, you're scared." The kid laughed lightly. "Well, that's fine. I'm sure you're not used to anything like this."

Despite the tone, his words didn't seem encouraging. But he kept his mouth shut. He was right, after all. This wasn't like anything he'd ever seen.

Footsteps clacked down the hard, polished floor before he could try grabbing his hand again. Two pairs of feet. Both coming into this room, by the sound of it. 

His heart sped up, and he made a move for the door. Like a snake, the boy beside him reached out and gripped his arm, stopping him an inch short of the knob. He let out a yelp of surprise.

"Please be gentle with your friend." A soft voice echoed from the hall. A moment later two adults, presumably the kids parents, entered the room. 

"I am being gentle. Aren't I?" The boy looked to him for help. He was barely even here, frantically trying to formulate an escape plan in his cluttered mind. 

A tug on his arm. 

"C'mon. I'm just trying to be nice." The kid half complained into his ear. He looked up at him, vision blurred. The sunglasses were gone off his face, now sitting in a shallow shirt pocket. His parents stood side by side a ways behind him, not making any move to intervene. He relaxed a bit.

"Sorry." He hiccuped. His voice sounded crackly. 

"I was gonna give you some old clothes." The grin returned, looking rather proud. "So you don't look so bad."

Head tipped slightly to the side, he nodded. Truthfully, he probably didn't look very good. Maybe that was why he hadn't heard from either of his companions in a while.

"Great!" The boy beamed even wider. His eyes shone as bright as his teeth. Suddenly self conscious, he looked away. 

"Aw, don't be shy." A hard tug unbalanced him and he was lugged off to an elevator. He didn't even realize houses could have those. And he especially didn't realize that a bedroom could feel like the same size as his entire house. Nervous, he looked at his apparently new friend, who was rummaging through a huge closet full of clothes. 

"Here it is!" The everpresent grin flashed behind the outfit he was holding up. 

"That's for me…?" He whispered. It looked very nice and soft. 

"Yep! Consider it a gift to my new friend." He chirped, tossing it into his arms. So they _ were _ friends. He smiled. They were friends.

That night, he came home very late. He hadn't eaten very much of the huge dinner his friend's family had offered, as he didn't want to throw up all over their floor, but he was still stuffed.

Unsurprisingly, his parents were still up. They glanced at him as he trudged past to his room, likely deciding whether or not to lecture him on coming home after dark. 

"What are you wearing?"

His father's voice made him freeze. "Oh, um… they're from my friend."

"What friend?" His father got up and approached him, feeling the fabric of his sleeve. He backed up towards his room.

"I-I didn't catch his name." A firm grip on his wrist. "But he's from the new family, with the big house…"

He tensed, squeezing his eyes shut and turning his head. Preparing for the inevitable blow from his father. 

But it never came.

"You don't say." The grip loosened, but he didn't let go. "Why don't you take us to meet this friend, hm?"

He perked up at that. "You really wanna?"

"Yes, yes. Tomorrow, okay?" He let go with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Yes, sir!" He grinned, hurrying off to bed before his father changed his mind. Normally, he wouldn't want him anywhere near his friends. But this felt different. He'd smiled. 

He jumped onto his bed excitedly, burying his face into the flat pillow. But this time, it wasn't to cry. Rolling over to look at the ceiling, he grinned even harder. Was his father proud? Would he approve of this friend? 

Looking down at his new clothes, he had to assume so. Maybe that was all he'd needed. A friend with a big house and some new clothes. Carefully taking them off to switch to some too-small pyjamas for the night, he tried to relax. Tomorrow would never come if he stayed up all night. 

He curled up on his mattress, wrapping himself in the thin blanket draping his bed. After a quick glance at the thin moon out the window, he squeezed his eyes shut. Tomorrow was going to be wonderful.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a lil blood so careful if you don't like that

The next week was fantastic. He and his parents went over to his new friends house every day, all together like a family, and ate a real dinner. 

It did seem a little odd that his parents kept asking to borrow money from them, though. Especially when they mentioned how hungry he was every time he scarfed down the food. He was pretty sure they could afford dinner on their own, since the two of them seemed to eat every day just fine. But maybe there really was a financial reason his parents didn't feed him all the time. Maybe they did love him, but they just struggled to show it. 

The thoughts warmed him. As did the food, and the company of his new best friend. But he noticed, as time went on, that the proud grins of his friend were dwindling. The patience of their hosts followed suit. 

"Your house really is lovely." His mother commented. They had been eating in silence for what felt like years. 

Nobody responded. The silence stretched on.

Becoming uncomfortable with the tension at the table, while not really sure why it was there, he started to get up. Then he stopped and excused himself like his friend had taught him, before hurrying off to the bathroom. 

Only a few minutes passed before he heard a sharp, familiar yell. Instinctively, he covered his head with his arms, though he quickly realized that the yelling was coming from downstairs. It was soon followed by more yelling, most of it unfamiliar. Still, it came from familiar voices.

Heart beginning to race and hands beginning to shake, he holed himself into the corner of the room farthest from the locked door, planning to stay here until the argument blew over and he could go home. 

The frightened cry of a child quickly drew him out. 

When he got back down to the kitchen, his parents were standing above a floor of smashed glass, his father's face twisted in anger. The table was bare. The other couple was standing opposite to them, their son hiding behind their legs. Tears were streaming down his face. His heart sank. The bruise was unmistakable.

Loud accusations passed through his ears, most of them lost to the spinning in his head.  _ They were only using them for their money. They were just rich snobs. They were only doing this for the kid. _ It was sickening. It was all his fault. He should've been more polite at dinner. He should've looked more presentable. He should _ never ever _ had let his parents come meet his friend. 

Acid burned in his throat. Tears welled up in his eyes as silence fell again, all attention turned to him. He'd been so, so careful not to make an embarrassment of himself this time. Now here he was, throwing up on their broken dishes and crying his eyes out. His father's rage filled gaze fixated on him; his mother's cold one swept the littered floor. The family he'd come to love didn't move to comfort him, either. He didn't deserve it. He'd brought his parents on them. 

Shaking wildly, he dropped to the floor to clean up his mess. His parents' mess. It wasn't supposed to look like his house, it was supposed to be neat and tidy. Clean and perfect. Sharp corners and small pieces dug into his knees and cut into his hands. The red pooling on the floor grew, trickling around his legs, soaking into his pants, travelling in every direction. He felt numb, his own wailing a distant echo. His friend's scared, confused crying rang clearly in his ears, even after being muffled into some blurry adult's shirt. 

Everything was spinning violently now. His throat burned again. Blood roared in his ears, and behind it glass shrieked as he crashed to the floor. Firm hands grabbed him, hauling him out of his horrible, untidy mess. Blindly, he pressed himself against his rescuer, hoping for a taste of the fleeting comfort he'd received from other families.

A dull, far away pain in his face. Desperate, he pressed even closer. Dull pain all over. A childish scream. More yelling. 

Yelling, pain, and crying, until the darkness ate up everything. This time, the silence was welcome.


	6. Chapter 6

Bandages still littered him from head to toe. They hadn't gone back to the big house in a week. He buried his face in his knees, bunched in on himself under the playground slide. They were never going back, he knew.

Voices floated over from the nearby road. Cautiously, making sure he couldn't be seen, he peeked out to see who it was. 

Walking onto the playground, all heading towards the swings, were his friends. All three of them. The loneliness in his chest ached to jump out and greet them, but he resisted. None of them had spoken to him in a while. He didn't want to scare them off immediately.

Instead, he hid himself tighter under the slide, letting them swing together without interruption. Fortunately, they were close enough to hear clearly. The Russian kid was even speaking a little English. That was good. He felt a little warmed. Until the subject changed.

"That bruise's healin' up nice." A high pitched voice commented, moving up and down to the rhythm of the swing. His heart quickened.

"Yeah, I think it'll be gone soon." Another voice hummed in return. "It didn't hurt, though, really. I wasn't even scared."

A whisper, lost in the wind. Giggling was accompanied by thick accented laughing.

"Hey, I was not!" The chains of a swing rattled. 

"Pussy." The giggling voice teased. 

"Oh, shut up." He could almost hear the eye roll. "Everybody knows they're insane. Why shouldn't I be scared?"

His resistance faltering, he carefully peeked around the slide. All three kids were nodding on stilled swings.

"I do feel bad for that kid, though." The smallest one kicked back into momentum, flying up quite high.

"Yeah. I guess it's no wonder he's so weird." The other two copied the motion, swinging back into the sky. They carried on with their conversation, dropping the topic and moving on.

Mouth dry, he shifted unnaturally back into his crevice under the slide. They thought his parents were insane. They thought he was weird. A small sob escaped him, but he tried to choke it back down. If they found him here, crying under the slide, they would dump him as a friend for sure. 

If he even _ was _ their friend. 

The sob resurfaced and his eyes made up for the desert in his mouth, streaming rivers already. His hands trembled. He cursed himself under his breath, pressing them into the cool sand. If he could just calm down, he could wait until they left, and try to talk to them all later. He could fix this. They could all still be friends. Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes. He stayed like that for a few minutes, the park growing silent, until finally he could relax and open them. 

His hideaway was concealed in shadow. Three pairs of eyes were staring, with varying emotions. His heart jumped back into full gear so fast he thought he would faint.

"Hi." He blurted out, hyper aware of the tear stains on his cheeks. 

Nobody responded. He buried his hands deeper.

"Um… can I play with you guys?" He tried to ask casually. Anxiety laced his voice.

"We, uh, don't really like you."

It felt like a shot to the heart. He was still wearing the kid's shirt.

The short one elbowed him hard, resulting in a short _ oof _ and fumbling of sunglasses. They landed at his feet. 

"He doesn't mean that. We just… we just don't really click, you know?" He was wearing that skirt again. It was the same one. 

He looked up bleakly. "None of you?"

An awkward nod. A nonchalant one.

He turned to the biggest of the children. The one who had tried to defend him from his parents.

Hesitantly, after a glance at his companions, he nodded as well.

Hesitant because he did want to be friends? Or just because he didn't understand what they'd said? Anger and hurt rose in his throat. 

"Learn some English, a-asshole." He spat. The small one's guilty expression hardened. 

"Hey, fuck off." He leaned down to grab the front of his shirt. "You shouldn't say shit like that."

Frightened and somewhat ashamed of himself, he covered his arms with his head. No wonder they all hated him. 

Nobody hit him. The kid let go. 

"Uh… yeah. Watch it." Confusion etched his face. 

He grit his teeth. Probably because he was so stupid and pathetic. Unfurling himself, face freshly wet over old bruises, he summoned up the best glare he could and stomped down on the rich kid's glasses. 

They sunk into the sand, unharmed. Their owner laughed. The other two looked confused, and almost like they pitied him, but that didn't feel any better. 

He stood up quickly, smacking his head into the plastic slide. With a frustrated yell, he shoved roughly, though weakly, past the laughing kid and his short friend and ran off towards his house. 

When he looked back, only moments later, they were already heading back to the swings. Nobody followed. Nobody cared.

He had no friends.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry lol

The rain felt cold on his skin. Tears bled in with the droplets running down his face, but he paid them no mind. Nobody was around to see. He could cry.

It ran down the windows of his house behind him, staining the glass to mirror his cheeks. The window to his own room was shattered, crimson dripping and dulling on the remaining shards as it mixed with the pounding cascade. 

Thunder sounded above. A whimper tried to escape him, but he bit his tongue, forcing himself to sit up straight under the downpour. If his parents came out to find him, they would _not_ find a coward. 

Still, he couldn't help but shiver, soaked to the bone in one of his thin t-shirts. Everyone he had once called a friend would be inside right now, warm and cozy with their families. Despite himself, he was jealous. He was angry.

But more than anything, he was alone. 

After a while of silence in the rain, the sharp clack of thick heeled shoes sounded a little ways from where he sat on the curb. Turning, he saw an unfamiliar man walking down the chipped sidewalk behind him. 

The aching in his chest told him to reach out and talk to him. Talk to anybody. Something else, deep inside of him, screamed at him to run back inside. Crawl in through the bloody, broken window if he had to.

He didn't have to choose between them.

"Hey there, kid." The man murmured as he approached, the sound of only the rain in his ears as the heavy clunking of shoes halted. 

"Um… hello, sir." He fumbled back, standing up to talk to him properly. A hand rested on his shoulder.

"What are you doing out here all alone?"

He stepped back, the voice inside him suddenly screaming much louder than the whisperings of loneliness. The hand gripped him firmly, suddenly threatening. 

"Leave me alone!" His voice felt horribly small, even to his own ears. Even still, he kicked the stranger in the knee, jumping back when the grip loosened in surprise. 

The look he received was much scarier than anything his father had ever given him. 

Without stopping to think about it, he booked it down the street. He didn't look back to see if he was following, and he wasn't sure exactly where he was going, but he kept running. Rain pelted into his face and his lungs burned. 

Thick footsteps sounded not too far behind him. His heart nearly raced out of his chest. 

Just when he thought his legs were going to give out, and he was done for, he saw it. The Russian kid's house. That would be safe. Relief washed over him. He was _safe._

Relief quickly dissipating, he sprinted up to the door and knocked as hard and fast as he could. 

A couple seconds passed. 

He knocked more desperately. All the lights were off. Was anybody even home?

A shadow rounded the corner of the block. Scared out of his mind, he dove through the window. Glass sprinkled the floor, illuminated by lightning and decorated with blood. Quickly, he scurried off to hide in the closet he'd taken refuge in when he'd first been there.

Hours passed. Somehow, when his heart had slowed down enough, he'd managed to doze off. He woke, some time later, to the sound of sirens outside. 

He ventured out, still damp and with aching muscles, to see if they'd caught that man. It turned out the man wasn't the person they were looking for. The man hadn't broken in while they were out having dinner.

Nobody listened when he tried to explain what had happened. He tried to blame the language barrier for his ex-friend and his parents, just so he felt better about the way they'd glare at him and the few angry comments he couldn't understand. At least, he pretended he didn't. He was sure he got the gist of it. 

He was soon carted off home to his parents, who were informed they would have to pay the damages to the window. Just like their own broken window. He was sure they would kill them this time. 

When he was left alone with them, he didn't bother trying to explain. He didn't cry when they yelled or scream when his nose started to bleed. He didn't complain when they made him pick up the shattered window in his room by hand. He didn't resist when they told him to go to bed without dinner. He felt too drained.

Instead, he flopped down onto his mattress and looked out of his empty window frame. Rain blew in. But at least he wasn't outside. At least he was safe. 

His mind moved to his ex-friends. At first he was hurt. Jealous. Angry. But then he realized. He wasn't like them. He could be better than them, if he really put his mind to it. If he could do that, maybe they would even respect him. 

If they feared him, maybe they wouldn't be able to look down on him. 

Biting his lip hard, the skin shifting, he wrapped himself tightly in his blanket and rolled over to face the wall. His hands stung with the grip, but he ignored it. Likewise, he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, where he could ignore them. He didn't want to be labelled insane like his parents. No, he wasn't going to be anything like them.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He could make new friends. Ones who wouldn't call him names. Ones more like him, so they wouldn't think he was weird. And he'd have lots of them, too, he decided, smiling softly. 

Thunder clapped loudly outside, but he had already escaped into his dreams. And in his dreams, he was blissful. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapterrr  
> I hope u all enjoyed

Fuck this school. Fuck everyone in it. 

He slammed his locker closed, earning a couple glances from the other students around him. He glared daggers at them until they looked away. Eleventh grade was the worst year yet.

A few lockers down, Commie and Ancom were smiling and chatting. Holding hands. Again.

Disgusting _._

They couldn't keep doing this, really. Nobody wanted to see it. Just like nobody wanted to see that awful, ugly skirt the Russian's pet was wearing. It was no wonder his parents kicked him out, if he was going to dress like that.

Arms wrapped around each other, they kissed. He looked away. It really wasn't any wonder.

An obnoxious yell behind him made him jump. Ancap, who unsurprisingly emitted the noise, strutted up to the other two, laced head to toe in stupid, expensive shit. Clearly compensating.

They were all laughing now, no doubt about degenerate nonsense. Ancom and Commie were still intertwined like the threads of one of Ancap's silk scarves, not being considerate of anybody walking by who might witness their gross display of erroneous affection. Their laughter grated on his brain and he felt sick, both with disgust and anger. Making a point to stand up tall and straight, though he was only taller than Ancom, he stomped over with a scowl on his face.

"You all need to shut the fuck up." He pointed his scowl at the couple, eyes filled with contempt. "And you two need to stop parading around like a couple of f-"

Startled, he stumbled back, clutching at his nose. Drops of blood dripped from it. 

"You little _rat._ " He hissed at the skirt-clad kid in front of him. Blood stained his fist, and he glared defiantly up at him. 

"Get lost, Nazi." Ancom's voice was high, but the warning edge was very apparent. The audacity of it tinted his vision red.

"I'm not a fucking- fuck!" He growled, receiving a second punch to the face by the shorter kid. He wiped his bleeding nose on his sleeve, eyes blazing.

This time, he turned his gaze to Commie. "Control your fucking pet before I kill him."

Ancom lunged at him, screaming something about pronouns, but Commie grabbed his hood before he could attack. He smirked slightly.

"Yeah, that's right. Heel." He sneered in his face. The anger in the anarchist's eyes screamed murder, but he could still see the hurt behind it. He couldn't hide.

"Stop antagonizing quem." Commie's voice was firm. Confident, he laughed in the larger boy's face. 

"You actually use those bullshit pronouns?" He snorted. "Please. You're so pathetic."

Commie rolled his eyes, throwing a look to Ancap, who flicked the back of his head.

"Hey, fuck off." He barely sounded interested, adjusting his stupid fedora. He pushed him off into a crowd of students. 

"What, can't even respond?" He goaded, turning back to Commie. "Are you really that pathetic?"

"Нет." He muttered, busy trying to calm Ancom down. The word made his skin crawl.

"Don't fucking speak to me like that." He snarled. "You think I understand that shit?"

"Нет, I-" 

"Speak some _fucking_ English!" He yelled, jabbing a finger into the larger boy's face. A glare formed at his fingertip. 

"Get out of my face." His voice was rougher now. People's heads started to turn.

Balling up his fists, ready to fight, he spat in the other's face. "Make me, pussy."

The hall went silent, everybody watching now. Commie was still staring angrily down at him. He pulled his arm from Ancom to wipe his face clean, then returned it to grab his hand. 

"You remind me more of your father every day." He said flatly, voice even and unbetraying of the anger in his gaze. Turning on his heel, he walked off down the hallway, pulling Ancom along with him. Poking his head out of the group of gathered students, Ancap hurried after them, throwing a snicker behind him on his way. 

He felt hot. He'd wanted a fight. Now that asshole had just embarrassed him in front of everyone. Face red, he turned to the crowd still surrounding him. 

"Well? What the fuck are you staring at?" He snapped, getting into the face of one of the closer ones. After a moment's hesitation, they all dispersed, many of them exchanging unsubtle glances. He punched one of the nearby lockers. Commie's locker. Hopefully something inside of it broke.

People continued to stare the rest of the day. It pissed him off to no end. He hated all of them, the bunch of degenerates. Nosy and imperfect and filled with sickening ideals. Why should he even care about what they think about him, or about his fight with Commie?

He didn't. He didn't care. He was better than that. Better than them.

Retrieving things from his locker once again, at the end of the school day, he caught a glimpse of his three peers rounding a corner of the hall. With a slight growl, and the hope that he'd at least made their days miserable in return, he shut his locker and followed.

Holding hands and kissing again, Ancom and Commie looked the opposite of miserable. Playfully teasing the two about it, Ancap looked just fine as well. Though he was still a third wheel loser.

Anger clenching his jaw, he watched them for a few moments, hidden behind a small group of students. He wasn't sure why he was angry. They were all annoying and useless, but he never spoke to them, and they never spoke to him. Other than occurrences like today, when he approached them, they were essentially strangers. But still, he followed them discreetly outside, unsure of his own motive.

Outside, they started walking off down the shitty sidewalk together, in a little row of three. Commie and Ancom still held hands. Ancap was speaking about some nonsense he couldn't quite hear, head held up high in the air. 

He walked down the steps and path that lead away from the school, until he came to the sidewalk the others were walking along. His house was the opposite direction they were going. He glanced behind him briefly, then looked back at the trio. 

For a couple of minutes, he watched them walk. Chattering amongst themselves, unaware of his presence. Something inside tugged at him to follow. Even if they were holding hands. Even if they were all delusional. 

Just before he could take a step, Commie glanced back, looking directly at him. They held each other's gazes for a moment.

He hardened his expression into a glare, flipping the other boy off. He yelled out the first slur that came to his mind, not pausing to contemplate its relevance. Ancom whipped his head around to shout something back, but Commie shook his head slightly. Shooting back an almost pitying glance, the Russian took his companions around the corner. They were quickly out of sight. 

Still glaring at where they'd disappeared, he spat at the ground. Good. He'd almost made a mistake. With a sharp turn towards his own place, he stormed off down the street, standing tall, trying to look confident. His eyes, brimming with hostility, spit fire at anybody who dared look in his direction. Most people ignored his presence.

It was exactly as he wanted. He didn't need to talk to any of them. They weren't worth his time. He liked being alone. 

He cast a glance behind him as he crossed the street, his house just beyond the crosswalk. His gaze lingered on where the three had disappeared, no doubt to hang out at Commie's place. They'd been doing it for years. 

Nobody else was around. Only him, the broken road, and his equally broken home. 

He hardened his gaze again. Sneering at the empty air, he strode briskly across the empty street and towards his littered front lawn.

He was alone.

Just as he always had been.


End file.
